


anima

by orphan_account



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 11:32:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3608511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carmilla busks in train stations and Laura becomes fascinated.</p><p>(inspired by tumblr user negovanliss's drawing of Carmilla playing violin)</p>
            </blockquote>





	anima

**Author's Note:**

> Quick one-shot inspired by this: http://negovanliss.tumblr.com/post/113960215620/dang-idek-i-just-thought-carmilla-would-pick-up

You notice her for the first time when you miss the train at Waterfront Station on your way to work.

She doesn't _look_ like a violinist. She's got on ripped skinny jeans and combat boots that look like they've seen better days. Her hair falls over her eyes and all of the dark shades on her person - her clothing, her hair, her eyeliner - only add to the illusion that her pale skin is actually glowing.

You watch her from afar at first because you think this might actually be illegal. You've seen buskers inside the station before, but not on the platform. The transit security people are just ignoring this girl though and before long, other commuters are dropping bills into her open violin case.

You forget about her when the train comes and you plug your earphones into your ears.

 

* * *

 

You see her again on Thursday morning.

You are late, again, and instead of watching her from further away you simply come to a stop in front of her and you let yourself listen to the way her fingers manipulate the strings in order for the sound to come out right. You have absolutely no idea what it is she's playing, but you think she can't _possibly_ be doing it wrong.

She opens her eyes and flashes a brief smile of gratitude when you empty your spare change into her case and you watch her through the window as your train departs the station.

 

* * *

 

You notice that as soon as she sees you - or like, senses your presence, because she never actually opens her eyes while you're looking - she stops whatever she's playing and reverts to the harsh opening of the first piece you've ever heard her play. It's smooth sailing from there and by the time you're leaving, after you give her whatever change you have, the piece smooths out into a soothing melody that you can't get out of your head for the rest of the day.

You even start combing through the Internet for it, but it's difficult because you don't even know what it's called or if it's her own composition.

"Laura this is getting out of hand." Your coworker, LaFontaine tells you one day while you're going through the entire Buzzfeed article on unforgettable pieces or whatever the term is. "We all feel like Bach has come back to life every time you come in to work these days."

You groan at the play on words and they only laugh.

"No seriously, Laur, you okay? Do you need music recommendations?"

"It's that girl at Waterfront Station." You say before you can stop yourself. "I can't get her out of my head."

"What girl at Waterfront Station?"

"The pretty one with the violin."

"Ah." LaF smiles when the music changes into something else - still someone's violin concerto, probably - that you're not entirely sure what the name is of. "So you're stalking a busker. That's why we're all suffering through Mozart from nine to five."

"I am not stalking a -"

"Sure. Can you turn it down? I'm trying to get some work done, crushes on buskers."

You groan again and flip them off before lowering the volume of the YouTube video playing on your laptop.

 

* * *

 

Standing in front of the girl at Waterfront station while she plays violin becomes a _thing_.

You step onto the platform just as the train you're supposed to be on leaves every morning and you eat your bagel while listening to her play. You're never alone. There's usually a child staring up at her in wonder as well or a man in a business suit or even a teenager who looks too punk rock to enjoy something as delicate as the violin.

She always always goes back to that one piece, though, and you're the only one she smiles at when you give her your change.

 

* * *

 

A few months into your new morning routine, one of her strings snap in the middle of her playing something.

"Sorry, kid." She immediately says to the little boy standing almost right under her nose. "Looks like that's it for me today."

The boy groans but drops a few coins into her case anyways and the girl says a soft _thank you_ to him and his mother as they walk away. You move to put some change in, too, but she flashes you a smile before you can.

"I didn't even get through half of Bach's Chaconne for you today, sweetheart." She says, waving her hand as she stuffs the money she's made into the pocket of her jeans. "Maybe tomorrow."

"My name's Laura." You tell her, holding your hand out. She looks down at it for a moment before taking it.

"Carmilla."

"You're really good, Carmilla."

"Well, I usually only get that from girls who've been in my bed, but I'll take it." She's smirking and you know it's a joke, but it makes you blush all the same. You watch her pack her things up and you can't help but think she's really pretty. Like unbelievably so and there's a grace in the way she moves like she's been walking in her boots for centuries.

"Are you getting on the Expo line?" You ask her when the train pulls into the station. She shakes her head and does up the clasp on her case.

"I go to school here, actually. Just up the block. Where are you off to?"

"Work."

"Ah." She raises an eyebrow. "Pretentious office job?"

"Something like that." You laugh a little at her words as you're walking towards the open doors of the SkyTrain. "I'm late. I'll see you tomorrow."

She raises a hand in goodbye and you watch through the window of the train as she walks back up the stairs towards the street.

 

* * *

 

She's not there the next day or the day after that.

It's almost a whole week before you see her again and she doesn't even acknowledge your presence until the smile you've grown accustomed to blooms on her face just before you leave.

You listen to Bach's Chaccone, the solo violin version, all day, but it doesn't sound the same when it's not Carmilla playing it.

 

* * *

 

One day during the winter - the season you hate the most because it means you have to bundle up even just to step foot outside - you're the only one standing in front of her when she stops suddenly and starts stowing away her instrument.

Before you can say a word she says, "Sorry, cupcake, but my hands are freezing."

You understand because you can feel the cold even under all the layers you have on and Carmilla isn't even wearing mittens, which you guess isn't a possibility for her while she plays.

"No, I get it." You're slightly surprised when she doesn't leave right away after she's all packed up. "You don't have to say sorry."

Carmilla nods and you can see her hand flex on her violin case before she speaks again, "You headed in for another day in your cubicle?"

You scoff at her, " _Please_ , I have my own office."

"Climbing ladders in the city, must be nice."

"Not all the time." You cross your arms because seriously, it's colder than normal. The train headed in the opposite direction of you leaves and both of you turn to watch it go before you take an educated guess at what she does for school. "Is this what pays the bills for music school?"

"This and my bookstore job. I also teach at the community center at Coal Harbour on the weekends when -" Carmilla shrugs then and runs a hand through her hair. "I don't even know why I'm telling you this."

You answer with a shrug of your own and she studies your face. She's got a stare that's nowhere near apologetic and you fidget a little when you find yourself its subject, but you don't break eye contact.

"Well, I'm listening."

She sighs, "I need the money at least until the community center extends my contract. I figured it would be good practice time as well."

“What do you teach?”

Her smile breaks the indifferent facial expression on her face and you can’t help but smile back like an idiot because she’s so so pretty and her eyes look so young. Carmilla raises an eyebrow before she replies, “Violin. What else?”

“I don’t know, you could be, like, teaching people how to work out the Dewey decimal system or -“

“I’m a cashier at a bookstore, creampuff, not a librarian.”

Laura, _you idiot_.

“Right. I knew that.” You can’t think of anything else to say so you just look at her for a bit until she gently shoves at your shoulder.

“Train’s here.” She says. “See you tomorrow.”

“Okay.” You’re nodding as you back away from her towards the train and you don’t really even know why. “Bye.”

You think maybe winter isn’t so bad after all.

 

* * *

 

Over the course of the next few weeks, Bach’s Chaccone, or whatever it’s called, becomes the soundtrack of your life.

LaF tells all of the friends you share about your crush on a busker and it becomes their favorite thing to tease you about, the girl at Waterfront Station. You don’t tell them that her name is Carmilla and that she gives violin lessons to senior citizens at the community centre. You also don’t tell them that she makes fun of your corporate job sometimes while she plays and that her smile is what gets you through most days.

 

* * *

 

It’s a Tuesday in May when you see her for the first time in the evening.

She’s standing in her usual spot and when you walk up to her, she immediately transitions into Bach.

“What are you doing here?” You have to raise your voice a little so she can hear you over the music.

“My busking permit expires tomorrow.” Her face scrunches up in concentration and she looks so cute that you have to smile. “Just getting my money’s worth.”

“That’s a thing?”

She rolls her eyes and you take away that busking permits are, in fact, a thing. You try to listen to the music and ignore that it feels like someone’s punched you in the gut because Carmilla no longer busking means you no longer seeing Carmilla.

“Are you going to renew it?” You wonder aloud and she nods at a stranger who drops a ten into her violin case.

“No. Shut up and listen to me play.”

You laugh a little at that, but you comply. She gets through all of the Bach piece - you know practically every note of it by now - and then slips the violin off of her shoulder. You figure you’re okay to talk now.

“So you’re not busking anymore?”

She shakes her head and you’re not sure what else to do except start walking away from her because she’s _just_ a busker at a train station and she might be pretty and she might play Bach for you every morning, but you don’t really have any sort of right to feel betrayed by the fact that she’s moving on with her life.

“I got my contract at the community center extended to the end of the year.” She does that thing where she runs a hand through her hair and you’re sure your eyes widen at how attractive she is. “I don’t need to busk anymore.”

“Oh, okay.” You smile at her and you feel a pang in your chest at the thought of never seeing her again. “I guess I’ll see you around.”

She smiles back and you’ve barely turned around before a hand catches your elbow.

“Hey.” She’s got a few inches on you even in the flats she’s wearing. “Do you maybe want to go out for dinner?”

She’s holding her violin in one hand and biting her lip and you kind of no longer have control of your mouth.

“Like, as a date?”

“No.” Carmilla’s voice is practically dripping in sarcasm. “So that we can go over the finer points of the Dewey decimal system.”

That makes you laugh and you’re delighted by the way her eyes soften when you do.

“Yeah?” Your voice is shaky and you’d be embarrassed by it if she didn’t look as nervous as you do.

“Yeah. Just let me pack up.”

You hang back as she gets her things together and you wonder when exactly your definition of _violinist_ narrowed down to Carmilla and Carmilla alone.

 

* * *

  
Later - after she kisses you just outside the door of your building and strokes your cheek with a slender finger - you listen to Bach’s Chaccone all night long.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
